


Skin-deep

by Lusethxii



Series: Bokuakakuro week 2016 [5]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusethxii/pseuds/Lusethxii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Akaashi likes his bubble of personal space. But as he watches Bokuto and Kuroo's casual interactions, his insecurities gnaw at him like the way his hands rub against each other.</p><p>((Mentions of anxiety))</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin-deep

**Author's Note:**

> A 110% self-indulgent fic with lots of headcanons thrown in to make it work..yeap. Anyway, this fic runs with the headcanon that Akaashi and Kuroo are tan while Bokuto is a little fairer. Also, just as a bit of context, fair skin is a common beauty standard in Asia, including Japan. (Even though it's more enforced on girls, well there's no reason guys can't feel it too yea?)
> 
> This was written for day 7 of bokuakakuro week, 'Secrets'.

Akaashi Keiji was not a touchy person - not by a long shot. His family wasn't big on physical affection. Things like hugs were rare among his family, only exchanged on occasions like New year's, birthdays or particularly emotional events. Akaashi could only recall receiving a hug when his grandfather passed away and when he fractured his arm and it had hurt so bad he started crying. It wasn't such a bad thing, because he was fine keeping his hands to himself and living in his bubble of personal space.

But Akaashi has an older sister, and she flinches when he brushes against her, reeling in disgust and spitting 'gross' and words of the like. As it child it never really stopped him, the young eight-year-old who only wanted attention, easily pushing past distaste and insults. When he gets older is when it starts to hurt. Suddenly, all his flaws burn before his eyes - his dark skin, patches of scars, clammy hands and blistered fingers. Everything was a stark contrast to his sister's, clear fair skin that their mother adored and praised.

As these insecurities surfaced, they started to overwhelm him, backed by remarks that Akaashi nodded at but ate him up inside.

"You're lucky you're a guy, it won't be good for a girl to be dark like you," his mother comments offhandedly.

"Oh your sister is so pretty!" Compliments as soon as she puts on a new dress, fitting right into it.

Akaashi can't shake the feeling that maybe his sister hated the contact of his skin because it was disgusting. God, he wanted to rid himself of his skin.

In a fit of impulse, Akaashi had grabbed a sponge, scrubbing at the offensive colour until it burned raw. He hoped and hoped that the melanin would give up it's stubborn colour and that by peeling off that layer, he could grow a new skin that would finally feel accepted. But the world was nothing short of harsh, and all Akaashi got were arms that tingled red and the same shade returning to him, clinging like a parasite.

Somedays when he puts on his white uniform, the contrast burns stark against his skin and he reels in disgust. It forces him to look away, from himself and every mirror until it settles, and even then it continues to stir from the pit of his gut, daring him to stare longer and longer at his reflection before it bites.

Akaashi hates looking at other people and their casual gestures. Friends that throw arms over each other's shoulders, talk in close proximity and brush each other's arms. All without breathing 'sorry'. He hates watching it because the space between him and his friends start to feel stiffer, a line that he'd drawn without ever saying anything that now threatens him if he ever tries to cross it by himself. It feels like no one will reach towards him; they all stand away, the centimeters of distance forming an air that he breathes that also suffocates him. Sometimes Akaashi thinks that maybe it is okay - probably it's all in his head, and pats on the arm or shoulder are really normal when they're all friends. But his mind summons memories that remind him why his hands are stuck firmly at his side, digging into his pockets because he had convinced himself that was the only way to warm them up.

 

* * *

 

Bokuto Koutarou is a different existence. He doesn't feel the boundary around Akaashi, or maybe it's not really there for him after all. The first time Akaashi sets for Bokuto, he spikes it across the court and turns towards Akaashi, beaming brightly.

"That was good!" Bokuto's voice is as loud as the sound the ball makes when it slams into the ground. He puts both hands on Akaashi's shoulders and for a moment Akaashi's breath stills and he wonders how long Bokuto will keep them there before feeling the sickening sweat through his gym clothes and drawing away.

"T-thank you?" Akaashi says slowly, the sounds barely crawling out of his throat.

"Practice more and toss for me!" Bokuto claps his hands down on Akaashi's shoulders - thump, thump - before he pulls away to talk to someone else. Akaashi couldn't help noticing later, the sweat trails down Bokuto's face and that he had missed because he was focused on the bright flush of his cheeks, the golden of his eyes and the huge, huge grin on his face.

After that Akaashi continues to practice setting, familiarising his calloused fingers with the roll of the ball as it lifts off his hands, forming a trajectory towards his target. A few months later and he was practising with Bokuto again. Bokuto is loud, his bright voice ringing in the closed walls of the gym. He calls for toss after toss and Akaashi sends them to him, until the action is forced into muscle memory, searing like his tired arms. At the end of practice sessions Bokuto thanks him for sticking around, throwing an arm around him. Even though they're both exhausted, sweat sticking the shirts to their skin, Akaashi doesn't shrug off his arm. Bokuto is crossing the line Akaashi had drawn, and it doesn't even feel like extra effort. Multitude of expressions faze through Bokuto's face every round of practice - excitement, shock, disappointment and happiness - that Akaashi learns to read all of them. So he trusts the arm over his shoulder and the slap on his back, knowing the face Bokuto makes doesn't speak disgust.

Soon after knowing Bokuto, Akaashi meets Kuroo Tetsurou. The first thing he notices about Kuroo is the confidence. Unlike Bokuto's confidence, that was capricious beats, Kuroo's was more like a steady rumble. Akaashi notices the way he casually leans over his team mates, as if breathing the same sphere of air doesn't bother him. The way he guides an underclassman's hands with his own, as if the contact is natural and not uncomfortable. When they play together, late afterhours in the gym, Kuroo is always taking chances to tease Bokuto. He's poking Bokuto through the net, nudging his side with his elbows while Bokuto protests, but it's clear that it's all in jest. Akaashi watches, half impatiently waiting for them to return to practice and half hoping, as his fingers rub against his palm, that someday his feet can cross over and his hands don't just nudge each other.

Cleaning up after practice is always a pain - volleyballs keep rolling away as Akaashi chases after them, and there are always only so many he could hold in his arms at once. Akaashi tosses them into the cart without looking, already drained from the night of practice. As he reaches for another ball, his hand brushes against - that of Kuroo. His first instinct is to pull away, and the second instinct tells him to apologize, and he does. Kuroo peers up at him, perplexed. Suddenly, Akaashi feels startlingly out of place and before the words on his throat choke him he excuses himself.

Bokuto and Kuroo are close, having clicked when they first met each other last year - that bit was clear enough to Akaashi. When they break up from camp, Bokuto and Kuroo always hug goodbye. Akaashi watches from the sidelines, letting them have their time. His hands fidget in the pockets of his jersey jacket, thinking this is as close as he will ever get. He knows he can hardly reach for Bokuto's arm to get his attention and whenever he comes in contact with Kuroo he will say 'sorry'. As Bokuto and Kuroo slap each other on their backs loudly, familiar like they've done that a hundred times, Akaashi's heart skips in jealousy. It's not fair, it's not fair, he thinks. It's not fair that it's so easy for them. Why can't it be easy for him?

Changing in the locker rooms is an everyday occurrence. On the occasion that Akaashi's eyes chance over Bokuto's skin, he always notices the peek of fairer skin on the other boy's shoulders and chest, whiter than the warm tan on his arms. When Akaashi glances back at his own body, the same brown colour covers his entire arms, shoulders and chest. Akaashi always changes quickly, pulling on the club shirt as soon as his uniform comes off his shoulders. Even though everyone else seemed preoccupied, Akaashi couldn't help the worrying feeling of not having a shade of fairer skin under his clothes but instead only patches of scars, scratched and marked into permeance. He's always the first one out of the locker room and Bokuto always gasps in wonder and calls him 'superman'.

One afternoon in the middle of summer training camp, Kuroo and Akaashi sit next to each other outside the gym. They're close enough that Akaashi can feel the heat radiate from Kuroo's body and their knees brush when they move, but Akaashi doesn't flinch and he doesn't pull away. Their arms rest in their own laps and Akaashi's eyes trail over them, taking in the tan olive of Kuroo's skin. He thinks about how much it suits Kuroo, bronze against the dark of his hair and eyes. Then Akaashi looks back at his own arm, that glows in a warmer shade and in that moment wondered why he ever hated it so much.

Nekoma has a white uniform, and the first time Akaashi sees Kuroo in it is during the Tokyo preliminary matches. The bronze of Kuroo's skin is stark against the white, but it doesn't feel harsh, or bad. Kuroo glows with the same confidence he always has, shutting out blockers with the same tenacity as always. Bokuto cheers loudly beside Akaashi, and he blames it on the heat of the moment but Akaashi also lets a few encouragements slip. When Nekoma secures the match, the team pulls together, their jerseys a mix of white and red. Kuroo is in the center; his bronze skin shiny with a sheen of sweat and dark hair plastered across his face, and a huge grin that makes him look like he's glowing. And suddenly Akaashi thinks about how he had never thought someone, who wasn't his sister emerging from a dressing room, could look that beautiful.

When Fukurodani scores the final point winning them the set, the ball slams onto the other side of the court and Bokuto whips around to look at his setter. The point scored is a miracle, after a series of difficult blocks, that Bokuto breaks through eventually. The two run towards each other, euphoria overwhelming Akaashi and they grip each other in a tight embrace. Akaashi's heart beats loud in his chest, pressing against the warm glow of Bokuto Koutarou. The hug only lasts a moment, and after that Akaashi thinks if there will be more times in the future where there's enough adrenaline in his veins to push the doubts back and his feet forward to send his body tumbling into Bokuto's warm, warm embrace.

After the matches and their respective debriefs, Bokuto tells Akaashi that he is going to meet Kuroo and invites him along. Not having any reason to refuse, Akaashi tags along. When they see Kuroo, Bokuto lights up and tackles him in a tight hug. Akaashi steps back as they laugh, loud and lively, thinking that this is their time and their space. When Bokuto and Kuroo pull apart, they turn to look at Akaashi.

Akaashi immediately senses the difference in their gaze. It's the same look Bokuto gives him when he wants another toss, the look the both of them give him when they want him to join for extra practice. It's the look they give when they want to invite him for something.

The invisible line seems to waver. Each step feels heavy, but Akaashi presses on and walks towards them, towards the bright glow of Bokuto's eyes and the small smile on Kuroo's lips. Then they're pulling him into the hug too, arms looping over his back as they press his face into their shoulders. Their bodies are pressed flush against Akaashi's, shaking with laughter. And Akaashi thinks to himself that if they are loud enough, the voices that tell him that he's disgusting could be drowned out. The line could be ignored. It could be okay.


End file.
